The Crucible (The Ember War Saga Book 8)

by Richard Fox

  “Damned if I know,” Bolin said. “One minute we’re fighting the Xaros, next my outer line of bunkers is screaming about those squid-looking bastards attacking. They killed all the doughboys they could find—had a couple reports of them taking human soldiers captive. Their fighters hit the firebase hard. They put up that energy wall during the air attack, seen their transports coming and going since then.”

  “They demand anything?”

  “One transmission.” Bolin looked over to a pile of armor in the corner and then the soldier’s eyes glazed over. His head fell against his pillow.

  “Damn it.” Yarrow stood up, blood covering his hands and knees. “His blood pressure is plummeting. I need you to strip off your sleeve right now.”

  “What happened?” Hale reached under a shoulder pad and unsnapped the link to his right arm. The armor plates fell to the ground and he peeled away the sleeve of pseudo-muscles and environmental shielding.

  “Too much blood loss.” Yarrow raced to the disordered supply station and dug into a locker. “You’re O-, he’s AB-, he needs a liter from you.”

  The corpsman ran over with tubes and needles.

  “Your green blood cells, the ones keyed to your DNA to ward off alien infection, might be an issue down the line.” Yarrow slid a needle into Bolin’s arm. “But if I don’t do this right now, he will die. No one’s ever studied if the presence of green blood cells will cause an acute hemolytic transfusion reaction. Probably because only our team and the Breitenfeld’s sick bay ever got the green blood cells.”

  Hale offered up his bare arm and looked at Bolin. In his mind, he knew the man that needed his help was little more than a stranger, but his heart ached to see his brother suffering.

  ****

  Hale flexed his bare arm as he left the aid station. His other hand held a water bottle to his lips. The captain grabbed on to the wall, steadying himself as a wave of dizziness overtook him.

  “You are unwell.” Steuben grabbed Hale with his four-fingered cyborg hand and helped steady the Marine.

  “Just a little woozy. Happens every time I give blood. Don’t normally give so much at once.” Hale finished his bottle and tossed it into a bin. “What’s the situation?”

  “The firebase has four functioning defense emplacements, sixty-seven doughboy augmentees and nine soldiers, none over the rank of corporal. Power reserves will last for another twenty hours—less if there’s another fight. Munition reserves…” Steuben tabbed a claw tip on his forearm screen then touched Hale’s. A spreadsheet scrolled over Hale’s display.

  “The firebase has one good fight left in it,” Hale said. “Access tunnels?”

  “All the connected nodes were collapsed. Standard protocol when a position was in danger of being overrun. The prisoner is asking to speak with you.”

  “Let’s walk and talk.” Hale took a tentative step away from the wall and went down the hallway, his coordination out of step like he’d had one drink too many.

  “Is this a normal human reaction to exsanguination?”

  “Normal donations are about half a liter. Corpsman took twice that from me. The Red Cross used to have cookies and juice waiting for people who donated. The only thing Yarrow gave me was a shot to boost my red-blood-cell production…wait…Jenkins. Jenkins needs—”

  “Sergeant Jenkins is on his way to provide plasma for Matthias. I took care of it.”

  “Thanks, XO.” Hale smacked dry lips and propped himself up against a wall. “I think Yarrow got more than a liter.”

  Steuben reached into a pouch and pulled out a candy bar.

  “This is named for your fourth planet. I do not see the connection.”

  Hale wolfed the treat down and took a long sip from a tube connected to his suit’s water packs.

  “Where did you get that?”

  “Cortaro found a cache of such confections while invoicing supplies. He said it was a lure for some sort of an animal. What species eats something with so little nutrition but so many harmful preservatives?”

  “Pogie bait. I don’t know…how about when this is all over I take you snipe hunting?”

  “Are snipes worthy prey?”

  “Yes, very tricky animals. Taste incredible but you can only hunt them at night. I’m feeling better now. Tell me what we’ve learned from the Ruhaald prisoner.”

  ****

  Caas dragged a power washer across the bay to where Elias’ armor sat against a wall. The once off-white slabs of composite aegis armor were stained with layers of gore from Ruhaald soldiers.

  She stopped a few feet away and checked the readings on the side of the tanks.

  “What are you doing?” Elias asked.

  She let off a test spray against the deck.

  “Carius made us suffer if we neglected our equipment. He found a speck of oxidation in my double barrels and nearly sent me to the infirmary with dehydration after an entire night of touching the wood line at Fort Knox. Did that ever happen to you?” she asked.

  Elias’ helm tilted slightly.

  “More than once.”

  “I know we’re on Earth and Carius is stuck on Mars, but look at you. You can’t do this yourself, thanks to your condition. So here I am. Do you have any idea what you smell like? Low tide and…your canine’s flatulence.” Caas aimed the nozzle at his helm.

  Elias kicked out and knocked the tank to the ground. The hose went flying out of her hands.

  “This is who I am,” he said. “Let the enemy see the monster.”

  “No,” Caas said as she marched over and kicked Elias in the shin, “you are no such thing. Do you remember when we met? Monsters don’t feed hungry little girls. Monsters don’t scare the piss out of bullies so orphans can live without fear.”

  “Let me have this. It is all I have left.”

  Caas clicked her beak several times and let out a trill.

  “Do you know the story of High Lord Yiir? Of course not, you were never a Dotok child. Yiir was a beast of legend. Tall as a giant, stronger than twenty men. Crushed every opponent that dared stand against him. Yiir conquered almost an entire continent on Dotari and led his undefeated army to a wide river separating him from the last free kingdom.

  “He charged into the river and got up to his knees before he stopped. For all his victories…he couldn’t cross the river. His soldiers asked to help, to join their hands to his and cross the river together. All Yiir had to do was humble himself, admit that he needed others to complete his task…but he refused.

  “Yiir demanded the gods part the river or he would destroy every temple in his domain. He continued on and drowned.”

  “This great leader couldn’t swim?” Elias asked.

  “His armor was too heavy. Do humans not understand allegory?”

  Elias tapped fingers against his knee, then shifted forward.

  Caas backed up, wondering whether Elias was about to put an end to her bothersome presence.

  Elias held a hand to her, mimicking the time he offered her a food ration years ago. The fingertips were black with congealed blood.

  “Help me cross the river,” Elias said.

  Caas righted the pressure washer and sprayed the stain clean.

  ****

  The Ruhaald sat in a corner of an empty barracks room. Its tentacles writhed over a small plastic model of an armor soldier posed with cannons extended and rail gun ready to fire. It held the model up and turned it over in the light from a failing light strip in the ceiling, flickering every few tens of seconds.

  Hale burst into the room and strode toward the Ruhaald, his hands balled into fists and a sneer on his face.

  “What’s your name?” Hale thrust a finger at the prisoner.

  “Shu’ul! Call me Shu’ul,” the Ruhaald said, ducking behind its hands. “I cannot communicate my scent pheromones through this box. Forgive me.”

  “Why are you attacking us?”

  “It cannot be helped. Your slave sect murdered the scion. A new scion must be chosen an
d that cannot happen until the offending sect has paid the blood price. The warrior brood is going mad with aggression hormones. It cannot be helped. It cannot be stopped.”

  “This dead scion is why your ships are hovering over every human city, threatening to nuke us if we fight back?”

  Shu’ul dropped its hand to the side. The wide black eyes focused on Hale one at a time.

  “I wasn’t told why this occurred. The decision came from the queen. We do not question her orders.”

  “Your people kidnapped three of my Marines. Where are they?”

  “I do not know. I am a pilot breed, not a locus, not a decision maker. Are you a high born? You look like most of the rest.”

  “Every human being is a decision maker.”

  The feeder tentacles within Shu’ul’s helmet went still.

  “How do you get anything done?”

  “Listen to me. We need to stop this bloodshed. There was some sort of misunderstanding with the doughboys and your…scion. His death was an accident. The doughboys are designed to attack anything not human. Someone along the line failed to warn you about the doughboys or prepare us for your arrival. This is war, and sometimes shit happens. Does that translate to you?”

  “We excrete waste. I do not see how this will restore the warrior brood’s biology to equilibrium.”

  “Wait…so when the scion was killed, it sent the rest of his troops into some sort of a rage?”

  “The new scion will rise from those who extract the blood price. They will not stop until the last of your slave sect in this area is dead, their end witnessed by—” a blur of wet ticks and pops came out of the voice box “—then there will be peace.”

  It held up the plastic armor figurine. “What subspecies is this? They are…incredible.”

  “They are armor, but they are human. Most of them. I don’t accept that we have to kill each other for this situation to end. Tell me another way to resolve this.”

  “The scion will rise. Then it will end. Our biology does not negotiate. It is not all humans that must die, only your slave sect.”

  Hale’s gauntlet buzzed in quick succession. An urgent message needed his attention.

  “Keep it.” Hale brushed his fingers toward the figurine and left the room.

  CHAPTER 7

  Ordona double-checked the new code inject he’d spent the last many hours perfecting. Working the mélange of Toth, human and Qa’Resh programming languages was taxing, but not much of a challenge for his considerable intellect. The leadership cadre hadn’t chosen him for this mission by accident.

  He considered the new code to be sublime, yet simple. Achieving control over the Crucible in the next few minutes would be a real boon to his compensation arrangement when he returned to his home world. A nice bonus could elevate him to a new home in volcanic caves closer to the centers of power. His spawning-pool siblings would be most jealous.

  Ordona unfolded a silver needle from his arm and extended it to press a holographic button.

  He floated back and swung around to watch the probe as his program took root.

  The air around the probe became hazy, then the top third skewed to the side at an ugly angle. The lights snapped off, but the panels arrayed around the probe glowed white-hot. Sparks erupted off the panels, ending the pyrotechnics with small flames along the edges of the ruined holo emitters.

  The probe returned to its normal shape and the lights slowly returned to their former luminescence.

  Ordona whirled around and checked his computer logs. The error was obvious. He’d sent the malicious code into the local energy distribution net and not the probe’s source code. He double-checked the last commands to see where he’d gone wrong. He checked his video logs and watched his needle reach for the correct execution key…and saw the button move, replaced by an access file that created the cascading failure.

  The Naroosha resisted the urge to lash out and wreck his already damaged equipment. The conclusion was obvious…and should have been spotted sooner. There was another hacker at play.

  Ordona summoned new equipment from his starship. Knowing there was another actor within the probe made things difficult, but not impossible. He made a mental note to leave the details of this incident out of his final report.

  ****

  Walking through the desert was a lot easier if one never became hungry or thirsty, Torni decided. The miles came easy when her limbs never grew tired and her “feet” were free from the worry of blisters. Her Strike Marine training involved many treks through uneven terrain under the burden of a heavy pack and rifle. The many “gut checks” weeded out those who lacked the mental and physical stamina demanded by the Atlantic Union’s elite void-borne rapid-action teams.

  While Torni’s physical concerns were largely moot, the isolation of the Arizona desert weighed on her mind. The highway had cut off miles ago, leaving her to meander through mesquite trees and tumbleweeds sent into motion by an encroaching storm front. The abject emptiness unnerved her. She’d grown up in Sweden, never too far from civilization and where there was a village in every valley.

  There was no sign of humanity. No powerlines, no garbage, not even the distant sound of airliners or delivery drones.

  “Most of the planet is like this,” she said. “It’s like our entire existence was forgotten in the blink of an eye. And now I’m talking to myself. Great.”

  A pack of coyotes moved through the brush, keeping a respectable distance from her. She remembered stories of the first builders from the Titan fleet returning to Phoenix. The local predators had gone several generations without exposure to humans. All workers had to have armed guards after the third brazen attack by wild dogs and coyotes. Children had been evacuated from the city until electrified fencing and armed patrol robots were put into service.

  She didn’t know if the pack stalking her knew better than to attack a human.

  “What does scent tell them? I wonder. A nice fat meal? Inedible metal? Talking again. Time to stop.” Torni took her attention from the coyotes and checked the sun’s location in the sky to reorient herself.

  Worrying about the wildlife was pointless. They’d find they made a huge mistake if they attacked. The occasional snake sightings meant nothing, not when she lacked flesh and blood vulnerable to venom.

  Clouds moved across the horizon. Torni did a double take when she saw a mountain lying flat across the sky. Not a mountain…a ship. Not a human ship for sure, the angles were all off and her brief experience with the Breitenfeld in the skies over Takeni taught her that human ships weren’t designed to hold a position that close to the ground.

  “That’s got to be over Phoenix, but what the hell is it? How long was I out?” Torni hurried forward, stretching her legs into a jog. She’d heard the American folk tale of Rip Van Winkle as a child and hoped she wasn’t in a similar story.

  At least she had a guidepost now. Wandering around the desert for years would be something of an embarrassment if she ever met up with her Marines again.

  ****

  Torni ducked beneath the thorns of an ocotillo tree and found a car-wide scar across the desert floor. A fire-blackened swath stretched for almost a hundred yards into a ravine. Several nearby shrubs had burnt down to nubs, and black smoke wafted in the strengthening breeze.

  The city was a few miles away. Everything looked still and peaceful beneath the alien ship. The triangle-shaped fighters orbiting the ship had shown no interest in her as she made her way closer to the largest remaining city on the planet.

  Torni looked down the abused path, then back to the city.

  “Not like I’m in a hurry.” She turned and followed the trail to the ravine. Below, a single Eagle lay crumpled against the rocky side of a muddy creek bed. A mound of dirt covered the cockpit.

  Torni ran over, feeling the heat from engine fragments broken around the crash site. She skidded to a halt next to the cockpit and knocked over a hunk of broken wing embedded in the fuselage.

  Wiping
dirt from the cockpit, she uncovered glass riven with cracks. A small section was whole, and Torni got a decent look at her face. The left side was canted the wrong direction, like she was a Cubist painting made real. She pressed her hand against her cheek and realigned her features.

  Torni brushed more dirt away. The canopy was so full of cracks it looked like it was covered in frost. She had no idea if the pilot was alive or dead as she rapped her knuckles against the glass.

  She waited a few seconds and took a step back. While prisoner of the Xaros, she’d witnessed her own death several times. The thought of opening the canopy and being so close to another corpse filled her with dread.

  The pilot was dead. There was nothing she could do for him.

  She turned around and heard a fist bashing against the canopy.

  “Hey! Hey! Is someone out there?”

  Torni spun around and tried to jimmy the canopy open. When that didn’t work, she melded her fingers between the metal seams and used her prodigious strength to rip the canopy free of its hinges, then she tossed the broken glass aside.

  The pilot held his hand over his face, blocking the sun as he tried to look at Torni. His right shoulder was badly dislocated, that entire side of his flight suit torn and bloody.

  “Thank God,” the pilot said. “I crashed. It was dark. I thought I died and was in purgatory but everything kept hurting so I thought maybe I was alive.”

  “How bad are you?” Torni turned aside, hiding her hand from him until it reformed.

  “I can still move my feet and hands. Neck’s fine. Everything just stings like a bitch when I do move,” he said. “You got a name, pretty lady?”

  “Later. Your radio working at all?”

  “You think I didn’t try that? Xaros hit me good, fried everything but the hydraulics. Why do you need a radio? You can’t be out here alone too.”